Page 41 of Across an Endless Sea

I frown at her, and my stillness gives the selkie enough time to dart forwards and start peeling back my bandages.

When she removes them, my vision is blurry. So much so that for a second, I think both eyes are broken.

“This is good,” the selkie murmurs. “He’s healing fast…” she pauses. “Although he’s technically right, he’ll definitely heal faster if his cap is—”

I blink away from her before she can finish.

I reappear atop the outermost of the city’s three great walls. The soldiers around me startle, then quickly school themselves, dropping into half bows.

“Guard,” their balding troll commander acknowledges in a deep, booming voice. “What brings you so far from the palace?”

I ignore him—can’t he tell I’m busy?—and focus on the gathered army on the ground below. The sea of Fomorian tents stretches across the horizon. The grass beneath them has turned yellow and brown, poisoned by long-term exposure to iron.

The troll follows my gaze.

“We’re quiet on this side,” he grunts. “They’re concentrating their efforts on the northernmost side of the city.”

I grin. “Perfect.”

“What wou—”

Ignoring him, I blink across the wall, searching the blue bodies below as I go. Redcaps are normally team players when it comes to battle. My kind tends to wash over our enemies in a wave of anarchy, overwhelming them with sheer numbers.

I like a good mob of blood and death as much as the next fae, but unlike my troop, I’m more of an arrow than an axe.

I spot the biggest Fomorian easily. She’s wearing a huge fur mantle, which I assume signifies some kind of status, as she struts around the tent.

In a blink, I’m beside her.

Before she can react, or draw her giant club from across her back, I grab her arm.

“Have a nice flight,” I say, grinning.

A second blink, and we’re in the air far above her troops.

Then I drop her.

Grabbing hold of my hat as it expands, I use it as a parachute. From high above, I watch her plummet like a stone.

She doesn’t scream. Damn. Well, that’s just disappointing. Ah well. Maybe the next one will be more entertaining.

There’s not much blood. Shit. She got a nosebleed, but it’s barely enough to wet the end of my poor little cap.

I sigh. At least she landed on another Fomorian and that one is bleeding better. Two for one isn’t bad.

Topping up my hat is going to require a more direct method, but that will come. With Rose gone, I have nothing better to do.

I’ll kill one of these bastards for every minute I’m forced to spend away from her. It seems only fitting.

Fourteen

Rhoswyn

Caed doesn’t stop his tour, despite the assassin’s corpse left in our wake. He leads me past several lookout towers, pointing out a famous market hall in the distance and nodding to several Fomorians below when they call up rough greetings to him in their language as we pass, until we head back into the fortress itself once more.

His hand keeps mine captive as he leads me through room after room dedicated to war.

I notice we don’t pass through many more armouries, but the great drinking halls and galleries we visit aren’t much of an improvement. The enormous, gloomy rooms are full to the brim with gruesome sculptures made of stone and metal.

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